Love Is Only for Conformists
by SpellboundWinter
Summary: There was a time where Michael regarded Butters as special. Back when things weren't so difficult. Back when he actually liked Butters. When his words were less poisonous and instead dripped from his mouth like honey. Yeah, it was simple back then. It was innocent. MichaelxButters or ButtersxMichael. Slash.


**For my friend Zighana! I really, really hope you like it.**

**ButterxMichael or MichaelxButters**

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><p>'Falling in love is like an abrupt autumn. Summer leading into fall with little to no transition. The leaves turn harsh colors as if they had been engulfed in flames. They would never stay long either. One good gush of wind would send leaves flying from their branches.'<p>

'The wind would carry them off for someone else to admire. Some would continue to flutter while others would end at the bottom of your shoe to be crunched. But it was just a distraction for the brisk winter yet to come.'

Michael finished his scribblings, placing his pen down. It was broken as splotches of ink littered his palm. Unfortunately, it was the only black ink pen he had and he would be damned if he would use a conformist color like blue.

Black was totally nonconformist. Totally dark and somber. Empty.

His eyes flickered to the clock again, trying to block out the droning of the professor. Social science was a poor excuse for a class. College was bleak and empty… like everything else in this world. He felt a small nicotine fit coming on but the only pack he had was empty.

It was a costly hobby.

More bad news? Michael wasn't that all of a nonconformist anymore. He fucked up.

"Hiya Michael! Gee, you look awfully preoccupied. Were you day dreamin' again?" he leaned lower down, catching the Goth's eyes, "You don't wanna fail, do ya? My parents would ground me if I failed."

Leopold could see right through Michael. It appeared that the Goth wasn't as deep as he thought he was.

The tall Goth straightened up, placing his rather large nose into the air. "I don't talk to conformists, Stotch. You of all people know this. Leave me be." And with that, he shoved the man aside and left the classroom.

He was in the halls and he actually had to do a double take. The little idiot was gone. Michael was glad to be rid of him. He might have understood the hint! Butters would leave his life forever! Things could be normal! Things were going to be alright-

"Wait up!" Butters exploded from the classroom, the door slamming rather loudly into the wall as he flailed up to Michael. "You _were_ talking to me! That means I'm kinda special, huh?"

Michael hustled faster down the hall and Butters somehow snatched his free arm, being towed with that huge fucking smile on his face. The Goth stopped abruptly, shaking off the blonde before turning to the man with a tight frown. "Conformists aren't special." He growled, eyes narrowing on the Butters. "Conformists are like everyone else."

Conformists were like everyone else… ha.

There was a time where Michael regarded Butters as special. Back when things weren't so difficult. Back when he actually liked Butters. When his words were less poisonous and instead dripped from his mouth like honey.

Yeah, it was simple back then. It was innocent.

The Goth could remember how the blonde's skin felt under his fingertips. And when he pressed down, it would bow and bend against Michael's mercy. Much like their relationship, Butters would bend and bow to every word he ever said.

The blonde was like an abused little puppy, crawling back to its master with those eyes. It knows what will come next. And why it keeps coming back for that kind of attention is unknown.

The two continued to wander down the abandoned halls. Butters was quiet with his hands stuffed into his pockets. His opposite, however, strode towards the exit. His last class was up and he was ready to go home.

He felt something yank him roughly to the side as was dragged through double doors and into stairwell.

"Let's play a game." Butters shoved the taller man into the wall near the landing. "It's called, 'tell the truth'." Butters, while innocent and sweet, had a lot of mood swings. "You don't love me no more or somethin'?" the blonde tugged the man's shirt, bearing his teeth. "Cuz I love ya lots. Now it's your turn. Tell the truth."

"Have you forgotten I abhor love? It's only for simple-minded conformist such as yourself." He turned his head away from the puppy dog eyes, trying to avoid it's tricks.

"I'm your little _Butterball_ though."

"That was like, high school. Get over yourself."

"You didn't tell the truth. And you know what happens when you don't tell the truth…" Butters hooked his fingers in his freshly dyed curly hair, pressing his lips against the Goth's feverishly. Michael didn't know what to do… feeling his journal fall out of his hand as he froze. But he did know that Butters lips didn't taste all like butter. The taste of lip gloss made his heart twinge.

And winning against Butters was impossible. He always made up the games and the rules.

"Don't act like you hate your little Butterball. What about all those poems you write about me in that journal?" Michael was too slow when the blonde bent down and pilfered the book, taking off down the stairs. The Goth followed after, boots and loafers echoing off the concrete walls. Butters waited at the bottom and Michael snatched up the man's waist.

"Read any of it and I'll totally kill you."

Butters took it as a challenge.

"'Falling in love is like an abrupt autumn. Summer leading into fall with little to no transition. The leaves turn harsh colors as if they had been engulfed in flame.'" He turned his head back at the Goth, "Ain't that a hoot? That's somethin' I told you. Copy cat!"

Then he noticed he was holding his waist. Michael. Holding a waist. He snatched the three ringed notebook back from Butters and the blonde giggled, "It's the same one from high school too."

"Fuck off already. I don't want you around wannabe Barbie."

"You're the one who said you didn't want a conformist kind of love like Barbie and Ken." He wrapped his arms, rather boldly, around Michael's neck. "Tell me the truth. Didn't you?"

Fuck.

"Yeah."

"You told the truth and people who tell the truth get kisses too!" Butters pecked his lips again, a small blush on his cheeks. "Well _lover_, wanna have a little date tonight at your house? We can go to your place and listen to The Cure and kiss and... stuff. I think it'll be real fun!"

Michael couldn't say no. Instead he sighed.

He would have to say he caught the flu again to the others. Henrietta and Firkle were the ones to worry about as they were cunning. They could easily see through a lie while Pete on the other hand… well…

And in a way the tall Goth wanted to be caught. Michael couldn't _really_ be with Butters until then. He did love him, (who couldn't?) but not _comfortably_. He was always on edge. It was as if he was sneaking around behind his wife. Cheating. Being in love was like cheating on his very way of life.

So, he fell in love with Butters like the fall.

Because it was just a distraction from the approaching, lonesome winter.

Where he would risk losing everyone.


End file.
